


Lady of Chaos

by Calleva



Category: Aethelflaed/Erik - Fandom, The Last Kingdom (TV), The Warrior Chronicles | The Saxon Stories - Bernard Cornwell
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Romance, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 09:38:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13714962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calleva/pseuds/Calleva
Summary: A hostage in Beamfleot, Aethelflaed receives a visit from a childhood friend, the beautiful and intoxicating Ingibjorg. Despite their joyful reunion, it soon becomes clear that the Danish noblewoman has another motive for her visit.  Can Sigefrid resist the attraction? Has the Lord of Chaos finally met his match?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Melanie Rose Daniels](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Melanie+Rose+Daniels).



He had spent the morning killing and now he was bored. He fancied going on a raid but there wasn't much point as they had already taken everything of use from the surrounding villages. While his men cleared up the bodies of the dead hostages he thought about having something to eat but he wasn't hungry. Where was Erik? Humping that princess again, no doubt. He would have to sort that out soon, the men were beginning to notice. Erik had told him she merely helped pass the time but Sigefrid was beginning to think this was not entirely true. If she was really bony and squealed then his brother wouldn't be constantly with her. Sigefrid was getting rather worried about his brother - she might have a sweet arse, but was she really worth all of his time? Was any woman? He spat irritatedly, the long jet of saliva hitting the wooden floor with force. 

"Get me an ale" He barked to no one in particular, but one arrived promptly anyway. It's good to be king, he thought. And he would soon be a real one, once the ransom was paid and the princess was gone back to her people. Sigefrid couldn't wait - he wanted his brother back again and he wanted silver. Soon he would have the biggest army ever raised in this land. He smiled to himself and took a sip of ale. Erik might like to spend his days mooning over a woman, but he would soon pull himself together once their plans started to fall into place. Then the brothers would have the pick of all the women. He had a nagging feeling that Erik might seek out that Saxon princess again and marry her once the pig's arse husband was dead. But by then he'd have come to his senses and she'd be one of many women he could have. Sigefrid shrugged to himself. It would be nice to see his brother now and then....

"Lord, there's a visitor." Dagfinn, one of Erik's men, stood in front of him. Sigefrid liked Dagfinn but he had become irritated and did not appreciate being disturbed.  
"Have they come to offer us silver to go away?" he took another pull at his ale cup.  
"No Lord,"  
"Is it a messenger from Guthrum offering us silver and women not to attack him?"  
"No, Lord," Dagfinn looked nervous.  
"Well who dares to disturb us?"  
"It's a woman, Lord. She is asking to visit the Lady Aethelflaed. A friend of hers, she says."  
"What? Is Alfred's daughter now holding court here? Hump the bitch and send her away."  
"I can't, Lord...."

Now Sigefrid was beginning to lose his calm. What was it about that whiny Saxon girl that made his men turn into fools? He felt his anger rising and saw that Dagfinn had also noticed and was growing pale and silent. But instead of shouting he threw back his head and began to laugh. Dagfinn however wasn't smiling. He still looked worried.  
"For the love of Odin, get rid of the bitch." Sigefrid snapped and then looked up. Framed in the double doorway of the hall was a young woman silhouetted with the sun behind her. Standing next to her was what looked like a large dog. She moved forward so that the sun illuminated her. Sigefrid stared. Silvery-white hair elaborately braided and falling in silken curls down her creamy neck, long coat of thick white furs, pale unblemished skin and violet eyes. As she walked a glimpse of pale blue showed beneath the enormous coat. Blue and white, like ice. The human daughter of a frost giant? The creature that trotted alongside her was also white and looked like a wolf. It stopped when the lady did and regarded Sigefrid with yellow eyes.

"Lord Sigefrid?" The lady spoke in uninflected Norse. He nodded, "And who are you?" Briefly he noted that under the thick white furs the blue dress clung to a slim but shapely figure. She looked him directly in the eye, as one accustomed to giving orders. "I am Ingibjorg Ingvarsdottir," she said in a gentle but firm voice. Sigefrid wasn't used to being addressed so directly by a woman. She seemed totally unafraid of him. Surely not the daughter of Ingvar Olafsson? He'd heard tales that he was set up like a prince these days and the richest man in Denmark. His father had made a fortune raiding, had become an overlord and powerful, and the son had amassed even more from trade. Could Alfred's daughter really be this woman's friend? Ingibjorg smiled. Everything around her seemed to fade to gray. 

"Don't I know your father?" He said slowly, his brown eyes shrewd, revealing nothing. The young woman smiled again, although her eyes told him she knew the game he was playing.  
"Possibly, though he doesn't travel much these days. You might know of my husband too, Sigurd Osvifrson. I do hope my friend is well? I'm sure you are taking good care of her." She spoke without any trace of guile or concern. 'A man like you would only treat a king's daughter well' she seemed to say. No wonder she wasn't afraid of him, she was the daughter of a prince, the wife of a Dane rich beyond avarice, and possessing of a powerful and intoxicating beauty.  
"And how would you come to know Alfred's daughter? Surely he doesn't let his children associate with pagans like us?" he teased, indicating the chair opposite him. "Ale?" he asked, suddenly remembering that she must have travelled some way. She nodded, "Thank you." She sat on the bench on the other side of the long table, opposite him. "I have known Fleda since we were both very young. We used to spend our summers together. King Alfred thought I was a very suitable friend, as my father and he had much in common, including religion." Someone plonked a manly-looking leather tankard of ale in front of her, which she raised and drank from. Sigefrid noted with pleasure how she did not feign dainty ways because she wasn't given a goblet, but his delight in her began to fade as he became aware again of the creature sitting close to her.  
"You did not need to bring your dog, lady, you will come to no harm in my house."  
"Oh he's not mine. He's Fleda's dog; actually we think he's more wolf than anything else. I expect she's missing him and as no one else will be, I thought she might as well have his company. He bites."  
"Well you can take him back to Winchester or Mercia or wherever he came from or I'll have him killed and skinned." The creature had a magnificent pelt that would look very good as a rug, he thought.  
Ingibjorg looked sad, but behind her eyes he noticed she wasn't really serious. "True, he hasn't many friends. Fleda hand reared him and he dotes on her. But he doesn't get on with the husband. From what I gather, he has taste. So he's back in Winchester where he has bitten almost everyone except for Alfred -"  
Sigefrid gave a snort of amusement, "Including the prig of a wife...."  
"He doesn't bite women." Ingibjorg's reply had a hint of reproach. The house of Wessex was her friend. She knew these people and seemed to liked them. How strange that the dull young woman perhaps even now lying under his brother should have a friend like this! His reverie was broken when she spoke again. A straight row of perfect white teeth flashed behind lips full and luscious, "My men, I trust they can refresh themselves? They will cause no bother, I promise you. I only want to see my friend and they won't trouble you."  
"Oh no trouble, Lady" he purred in his deep voice, giving her his best smile. Sigefrid was a handsome man and he knew it. His dark brown eyes softened and his earlier bad temper faded completely. He'd love to hump this one, but she was rich and important. Her father and husband were powerful; compared with them he was just a petty warlord, one among many. She placed her coat loosely on her shoulders and he noted the fullness of her figure. He'd half suspected that with a face like that she'd have no tits - after all she couldn't be that perfect - but this wasn't true, they were full, firm and pert. He pictured her naked and lit by candlelight. She'd be magnificent and gloriously exciting, like Freya herself.  
"Of course you may see the Lady Aethelflaed," he told her, flashing a smile. He knew women liked his smile and could see she was responding to it. Her eyes held his for a little longer than necessary.  
"I'd like to go directly," she stood up. "Thank you for your welcome... Lord." She said the title as an afterthought but he didn't have the heart to feel, or act, insulted. You didn't offend a goddess when she came visiting. 

Silently, the wolf-dog followed her out of the hall.


	2. Chapter 2

_"There was a lot of shrieking when the two ladies saw each other, the way some women do. They hugged a lot and the princess cried. She loves that wolf thing, she was hugging and kissing it and crying into its fur while it howled. Lord Erik said they should be allowed some time alone to talk." Dagfinn made to leave and Sigefrid nodded in dismissal. Shrieking indeed, but the Danish woman didn't cry, he noted. Maybe she would shriek in bed? He smiled to himself at the idea of so cool a woman becoming undone in his arms. She would be a challenge._

"Inga! I can't believe.....!" Aethelflaed started to speak but her voice broke and the tears ran down her face. "Excuse me, I'm being stupid...." she sniffed and took the cloth that her friend offered her. "It has been too long, dear friend," replied the North woman "and I heard about what had happened to you, and feared that you would be lonely. See I even brought Bobo to you."   
"I've missed you so much. I heard you got married but you never wrote back to me."  
Inga sighed, "I'm sorry Fleda, you know what I'm like. I meant to write, and should have. Dearest, remember how I told you I have no heart? I have loved you as much as I love anyone. You must believe me."  
Aethelflaed dried her eyes and smiled weakly, looking at her friend sitting on the little bed next to her. She wished they were both twelve years old again and making up their tales about heroes.   
"What's Sigurd like? When you were betrothed, you used to call him The Pig, is he really?"  
"Dear little friend, I like pigs, don't you remember the pet I had that followed us everywhere?"  
"So all is well with you?"  
"It is," Inga suddenly looked up, and studied the bars on the high window in her friend's cell. She noticed that Aethelflaed did not mention Aethelred. As children they shared everything; clearly all was not particularly well there. "Tell me about the men here," she said in a low voice.  
"Ah, I see now why you came and it wasn't for me, was it? You want to look at the men."  
"Of course I came to see you, but you know what I'm like, dearest."

Indeed Aethelflaed did. She recalled how Ingibjorg had talked about how she would enjoy herself after marriage. It would be her reward for denying herself during her unmarried years so she could go to her wedding night technically untouched. The strange thing was that she seemed to like her husband, and yet here she was cold-bloodedly speculating about the Viking horde at Beamfleot. Now she had been bedded she was free to indulge her desires, thought Aethelflaed, though how that worked if she were discovered... Or was Sigurd so hypnotised that he overlooked her little weaknesses?  
"Inga! please!" she hissed, "they are all so rough... you can't imagine any who would even be suitable, could you? And what of your husband? Your own men would tell him..."  
Inga laughed, a sweet sound full of merriment and natural joy. Her laugh was always so beautiful. "They won't. And Sigurd is no fool. He won't lose face. I've never been a good girl you know, not like you. Now tell me who's worth a second look? I remember you had taste, even if you choose to forget it. What about your jailor, the other brother, Erik, isn't it?"  
"Leave him out of this!" Aethelflaed fixed her friend in the eye.  
"Oh all right, I see. Don't glare at me like that - he must be a hell of a lover. Does he send you to heaven and back?"  
"Stoppit Inga. If you love me you will leave him out of your hunting plans."  
"Oh I don't think he cares for me, you little goose. I could see how it was with him as soon as I came down here. He keeps you in a stable so he can ride you when he likes..."  
"I have some say in it too."  
"Excellent; my little Faffleflad is learning."  
Aethelflaed cringed at her use of the baby name. One of her younger siblings had called her that, trying to pronounce the difficult name. Inga could be so callous, but she didn't mean it. In the emotional sense she really did have no heart, but in as much as she cared for anyone, she loved Aethelflaed. It wasn't love in the way other people thought of it. Perhaps one should not judge her the same way as other people. She was a free and wild spirit.  
"Tell me about the brother, Sigefrid." Inga said.  
"He's very different to Erik. He kills for the fun of it, and he seems to have no finer feelings at all. Erik says he doesn't understand about things like love, so he can't tell him about us. Sigefrid thinks it's all about humping and that's it. So Erik pretends that it's just lust that keeps him coming back to me."  
Inga gave a soft smile, as if she'd seen a particularly adorable kitten playing with her shoe, "And it's not is it? It's that feeling you dreamed of as a girl and I could only imagine. Pity it wasn't for your husband. I heard he is a fool, by the way. I'm sorry for it. You deserve better."

Aethelflaed was silent but her pinched face told the story. It must be bleak for her, thought Ingibjorg, she needed to love and respect her man and this Aethelred clearly gave her nothing. On the other hand, Sigefrid had possibilities. She and he must be somehow alike, she thought, neither really understood love as a feeling. He had eyed her very thoroughly, as she had intended he should. She liked the challenge of someone new, but the problem was they were never very difficult to conquer. Perhaps she would start with one of those young fighters who guarded Aethelflaed's cell? Lovers should be very young or very married, to avoid the possibility of anything infectious.


	3. Chapter 3

At least he was no longer bored. Sigefrid looked forward to the evening's feast when he intended to sit beside the Saxon princess' friend and look into those unusual blue-violet eyes. The lady had sent a request through one of her men that she would like Aethelflaed to attend as well. It couldn't hurt and it would be a cheap courtesy that might help the visitor feel more at home in the all-male company. He wanted Ingibjorg to feel at ease. Before everyone assembled he sent out word that all the men were to behave well. No really bad behaviour. Any vomiting, loud farting, throwing of food, extreme drunkenness or exposure of private parts would result in being thrown out of the hall and forced to sleep in the pig pen. He had the thought that there would be quite a crowd in that cramped place before the night was out. Well, if the company became too wild, he could take her for a walk and show her.... oh, what? Maybe the view of the harbour with all those ships they were gathering. She'd like that, being a Dane.

He had ordered that all the food served should be good and plentiful. This Ingibjorg may not be a princess but she was used to a higher standard of living than even Aethelflaed was. Old Ingvar might be a Christian but he fooled no one, thought Sigefrid cynically, he was basically the same as everyone else. A lot of high status people converted for practical reasons, to make new alliances or to get themselves out of blood feuds. These had been thinning out the numbers of their menfolk and which passed down the generations, so that often people could not remember the original offence. Scratch the surface and you'll find a good pagan underneath.

He had his hair rebraided, neatened his beard and put on a clean tunic. He wasn't one for a lot of shiny metal, feeling that heaping on arm rings smacked of a need to impress. He would impress this woman and make her his, but by the force of his charm. This was not a wench that he could carry off and claim for his bed, he was going to have to lay siege to her in the old fashioned way. At least none of the other men would dare to have a go, so with Erik taken up by the Saxon woman, he had a clear field. 

As the afternoon drew on he became more on edge. What exactly was he going to talk about to this goddess? She wasn't going to be interested in beheadings and the sacking of monasteries, was she? It had been a while since he had spoken to a young woman in the hopes of interesting her. It would have been before he came to this land where the women could be seized and taken at will. How would he find the right words? Who could he ask who would be certain not to talk about it later? There was always Erik....  
"Brother, what do you find to talk about to your princess, I mean, when you aren't humping her?"  
Erik shifted and thought for a minute. His mind was racing... What was his brother up to? He must on no account learn about the emotional nature of his feelings for Aethelflaed. "Why do you want to know?"  
"Oh, well, I was wondering... that's all. We have an important guest who needs a good welcome. Our reputation might depend on this."  
Erik thought he saw what his brother was getting at. He relaxed a little and gave a half smile. So - that was Sigefrid's plan was it? Ambitious, even for him. "Talk to her as you would any guest - the journey, what her home is like, what interests her. Ask her questions and listen to her answers. Don't mention fighting and killing unless she asks and even then avoid giving details. No head splitting."  
Sigefrid nodded. It sounded sensible, but as he walked away he realised that his brother had avoided telling him what he talked about with his woman. Perhaps they didn't talk much at all.

Meanwhile, if she was to stay, the lady needed somewhere suitable to sleep. He would have to throw some people out of one of the low buildings around the hall. it would have to be dry and warm and clean and got ready by nightfall. Of course if he was lucky, she wouldn't need anywhere because she'd be with him and it would be easy to keep Erik out of the chamber they shared. Erik would simply move to the stables and join the princess.


	4. Chapter 4

As befitted an overlord, Sigefrid arrived last for the feast. The hall was full of fighters sitting at long tables. In the centre of the hall a hearth fire glowed with warmth and welcome and slaves weaved in and out of the crush bearing haunches of meat, bowls of rich stew and platters of bread. There were also cheeses and fresh fish served with nuts. To drink was ale or mead in leather tankards. Man-food and man-drink served in man sized vessels. The smells were delicious.

Sigefrid sat at the end of the table with Ingibjorg on his right and Aethelflaed on his left. Erik sat on the other side of the princess blocking off access to all the other men. He had arrived earlier to ensure that the placement was good, and that no one else would monopolise his woman or the Danish visitor. Her other neighbour was old Egil, a veteran fighter whose table manners could be relied on not to offend and who wouldn't be too attractive to Ingibjorg. When Sigefrid took his place, Erik was telling some story and the two ladies were listening attentively to him; after that the conversation flowed easily. Sigefrid noticed the easy way the women spoke to each other, like old friends. Occasionally one would make a bland comment which the other would find unusually interesting or amusing. Sigefrid realised that they must have some kind of personal language between them. He himself had once had a similar one with a friend back in Denmark. They had phrases which sounded innocuous enough but which they understood differently. For instance 'How was the hunting today?' meant 'did you see any interesting women?', and the reply might be, 'chased a few but they all got away' or 'nothing worth going after'. Occasionally it might be more exciting, such as 'I caught a couple of sweet young does'. That seemed a long time ago now. But here was a couple of young does, and he and his brother were the hunters.

"I hope you have everything you need, lady" he said to the goddess on his right. She tilted her head slightly towards him, so he caught a whiff of perfume, and replied, "Thank you, my maid has arranged everything so that it feels already like home."  
"You must feel free to stay a long as you need, lady" he told her. Actually, this was not true. If Ingibjorg resisted him, he would want her gone. If she did not, of course her stay would be as long as they both wanted. Erik was talking about some Danish delicacy that he wanted Aethelflaed to try and she obligingly opened her mouth to let him feed her a morsel. She laughed softly and he smiled indulgently at her. Really, Sigefrid was glad that the lovers didn't eat together with them every night. It wasn't very manly and Alfred's daughter could perfectly well feed herself. She liked her food, that one, and could swig her ale like a fighter. 

He asked his guest if she had a similar upbringing to her friend, "Oh no," replied Ingibjorg laconically, reaching for a pear with a slender hand, "I never had the least desire to learn weapons training when there are men at arms who can protect me perfectly well. Alfred was so intense about his family defending themselves." She gave him a conspiratorial look and bit into the fruit with perfect teeth. Alfred, she seemed to say, is a stupid neurotic Saxon.  
"If you would like, tomorrow I could take you hunting, there are plenty of deer around here, or maybe we could ride to the harbour and inspect our Danish ships."  
"That all sounds lovely," She flashed him a brief smile. As the meal continued Sigefrid wondered why he'd ever worried about how to talk to this creature. He wasn't prepared for her to instigate conversation or recount stories, which she did with confidence. The rich husband must find her an asset at the head of his table; she was self-assured, polished and her charm was not forced. She gave the impression that she was enjoying herself greatly, which added to the gaiety of those around her. She even spoke animatedly to old Egil and seemed interested in him.  
"I hope you don't find our company too rustic - we are mostly crude warriors, fighting men, compared to what you will be used to." Sigefrid filled up her tankard, attentive but not overly so.  
"Not at all, I am enjoying myself. You keep a good table, Lord and I see that my friend likes our Viking food. I was worried for her, that she might be thin and pining but, given the circumstances, she seems to be flourishing." She gave him an arch look which told him that she knew why. He found himself grinning like a young lad - there was something about this fascinating and intelligent woman which invited good humour - and more than ever he wanted her in his bed. They were silent for a moment, each aware of the other. Sigefrid looked across at his guest just as she was looking over at him. They smiled at each other. No, tonight he wasn't going to talk about head splitting and burning churches, he didn't even want to. He wanted to listen to her melodious voice and catch the faint whiff of her perfume. 

She was, quite simply, not like any woman he'd ever met before, and he was enchanted by her. 

"You've known each other for a long time," He observed in his deep voice, "Aethelflaed and Ingibjorg..."  
"Oh call me Inga. Everyone does. We met when we were about ten; we used to stay in each other's households during the summer months."  
"So you know all about Alfred then.. I suppose he was very... protective..." His tone implied 'restrictive' - lacking in fun.  
"Hmmm but we managed to get round him. Like all fathers, he had not much idea about how we amused ourselves."  
He raised an eyebrow, "Is that so? Alfred's daughter.... getting into trouble...." his smile was cynical, he was relishing this.   
"What are you saying Inga?" her friend cautioned her, "you give the wrong idea about the sort of fun we used to have."  
"Oh we had wonderful times. Fleda is very good with horses and she had this maidservant who she had rescued from a slave market. She's very sentimental about that sort of thing." Inga paused to take a bite of cod, "The maid found out that some of the young guards had gone to watch some, dancers, at a local tavern and had got so drunk they couldn't stand and certainly wouldn't get home and in bed before morning. They would have got into a lot of trouble and perhaps been dismissed - " Inga spoke carelessly, as if it did not matter much to her either way  
"Some of them needed to work to support older relatives who couldn't manage without them." Aethelflaed supplied.  
"Anyway, in the dead of night she and I slipped out and got the horse and cart. We put cloths on the horse's feet to muffle the sound on the stones. Dear Fleda, so clever, she drove that cart, with me and her maid, into Winchester to get the men out of there. She backed up the cart right in front of that tavern and waited while her maid went inside to get the men. Those poor boys, they spent the home journey sobering up and being very ill over the side of the cart. But we got back safely and I don't think anyone ever found out."  
Aethelflaed nodded but she was focused only on Erik. "I was afraid we'd be discovered but we weren't." Erik leaned across to her and muttered something which made her blush prettily.  
"Well only she could have driven that cart so well," Added Inga, "reversing it and keeping the old horse at a steady pace. I hadn't a clue of course. My little Faffleflad is so clever."  
"You are far more accomplished than I am," observed her friend gravely.  
"In what way?" Sigefrid was genuinely interested.  
"Oh, she flatters me," drawled Inga, "She rides horses like the wind, and is handy with a sword. She can also cook a bit, freshly caught fish over a fire, that kind of thing. I'm only good at the useless things. I can play and sing which she doesn't do much of - her father wants her to know about serious matters. And when we found out that the book of tales he gave her had missed out the old gods, it was me who wrote in the details, all over the margins."  
"I'd forgotten about that! Gudrun, my maid, was a Norse pagan originally and she told us the way the tales were supposed to go."  
"I'm sure Alfred loved that." Chuckled Sigefrid.  
"Of course he didn't - he doesn't know. He's not got time to read through his daughter's old story books." Inga was dismissive.   
He leaned towards her and put his mouth close to her ear "I think you are naturally rebellious, I like that..." He muttered, hoping she had drunk enough ale to understand him.  
"What, me?" Inga leaned back and looked straight at him for a few seconds, "How _could_ you think so?"

By now it was obvious that she was interested in him. The feast was coming to an end and it only needed for him to get her to follow him up the wooden stairs to his bedchamber on the floor above. He and Erik used to have one each but with new men constantly coming into the fort, everyone had to cram in, the two brothers sharing. Everyone had drunk a good deal and he noticed it was the time of evening when things took a natural course. There weren't many women but by now they would be paired for the night, arms draped around their designated men. The Saxon princess was sitting on Erik's lap and giggling into his ear. Sigefrid noticed that even now his careful brother was trying to get her to act more soberly, but failing, as he too gave in to the effects of the mead.   
"I don't know about you but I am almost ready to go up," Sigefrid said, taking a final sip of ale. He studiously looked at the company along the table.  
"Good idea, I had quite a journey and am tired."  
"You like to go?" He tilted his head in the direction of the stairs.  
"Yes let's," She said softly, getting to her feet. Sigefrid rose slowly, hoping he wasn't too drunk to walk without staggering, which after a normal feast he would have done. He briefly leaned over to his brother who was smoothing a lock of Aethelflaed's hair from her face, "You're in the stable tonight. Get some extra bedding and have fun." And without another word he walked away.  
Erik and Aethelflaed looked at each other, "I've a better idea," he told her, "We can use the place my brother gave Inga, and her maid can have the stable." She gazed dreamily back at him.


	5. Chapter 5

It was the work of a moment to push the two beds together. They got undressed in the low light of the torch lamp. Sigefrid had wondered if he might perhaps have drunk a bit too much but was relieved to realise that this wasn't so. Just thinking about that woman's body close to his own got him into a state of agitation.

Inga had no such qualms. Having already sampled one of the sweet young guards next to Aethelflaed's cell, she was prepared to take things at any pace the warlord wanted. She had a feeling he would be a beast in bed but she would handle him. He would please her or she would be off out of his bed and in search of another prey. Being the lord of the camp it was only good manners to let him be the first, or at least, believe himself to be.  
She stood naked in the muted light of the torch which glowed through glazed sides. Carelessly she shook her hair loose, all Freydis' hard work completely undone in a moment. She turned and walked to the bed, while he watched her hungrily. She had thought of making him wait, but that would be too cruel and besides, she was curious. This semi-wild man would be an interesting change and she might even learn a thing or two.

His skin glowed like honey against the paleness of the sheepskin fleece. For a fighter he didn't have too many blemishes. She had wondered if she should put out the light, but it wasn't necessary. He was much more desirable than she'd imagined. She stood next to the bed and smiled at him while he drank in the look of her.  
"Freya," he mumbled. She slid in beside him. She drew a nail along his shoulder, "beware of her cats, they scratch.." He drew her into his warmth and bent to kiss her. Not bad at all, she thought, surrendering to his kiss. 

 

Sigefrid couldn't remember the last time he had slept so deeply although it had been brief. Whatever time he fell asleep he always woke at the same time. Warriors are early risers. Gradually the memory of last night came back to him. He and this Danish noblewoman had made vigorous love until they simply had nothing left. She had used her supple body to bring them both to the heights of pleasure again and again. He had been delighted to discover that for all her gentle upbringing, inhibited she was not and she had enough stamina to make him work harder than he ever had. Usually it was he who wore out his partner. Were there really that many positions, and how did she know about these things?  
"Good morning, lover." Her soft voice woke his reverie. She turned over so that she faced him and smiled up at him through tousled long hair. Gods, but she was beautiful even with only a couple of hours' sleep. She wrinkled her nose at him and bit her bottom lip playfully as her hand snaked beneath the covers and travelled along his skin. His warrior's body was firm and muscular from a life of fighting, and despite the amount of ale he drank, he had not an ounce of flab on him. He looked at her with amused eyes as her hand explored lower, "Again?" 

In response she rolled him onto his back and straddled him.

 

"Now that's how I like to wake up!" she panted, falling back into the bed. Really, she had planned to stay a couple of days or until she got bored, but she could see that she wasn't going to be bored for a while. This Sigefrid was a surprising find, and she couldn't let him go yet.

"Your brother will wonder where you are..."  
"Let him, he's been so busy with your friend that we hardly see him."  
"That's good to know. For Fleda I mean. She deserves some fun." She traced a finger along his jawline, feeling how strong it was beneath the thick black beard. "She needs a Dane in her life..."  
Sigefrid pulled away from her and lay back sighing. He clearly wasn't comfortable, but of course, there was the ransom to be paid, "I didn't say it had to be forever," she cooed, "but let her have her moment of bliss. Did you ever see the husband?"  
"A couple of times, he's a Saxon weaselshit, full of his own importance. Pity Erik can't fight him, it would solve our problems with Mercia."  
"It would solve Fleda's problems too. I'm hungry, is there any food around here? Can you get some thrall to bring us some?"  
He laughed, a rich soft chuckle in his deep, dark voice. "You ate a lot last night and you're hungry again? Your appetites, woman, will wear us all out."  
"Be grateful, warrior. Let's eat and then I'll sing to you - unless you have anything else to do, some villagers to pillage and rape, perhaps, my sea wolf...." She bent over and kissed his warm skin. Skin that looked, smelled and tasted like honey.


	6. Chapter 6

"You mean that your brother and my friend are still locked in that bedchamber?" Aethelflaed was incredulous. She was sitting by the window in the little house where they had spent the night. Freydis, Inga's maid, was braiding her hair. Erik noted this and scowled slightly; he preferred her hair unbound, as if she were unmarried. No matter, he would take pleasure in pulling it loose that night, and he had to admit to himself she did look good. The braided hair showed off her long neck.  
"I thought she had come to visit _you_." He said wryly noting the book, now ignored, on Aethelflaed's lap. It was her friend's and Fleda must have picked it up to pass the time.  
"That was her excuse and it has been good to see her again, and get Bobo back. " She sighed deeply and gazed at him with earnest eyes. "Men adore her, she's so beautiful. You don't feel anything towards her do you? I wouldn't blame you if you did." As if in expectation of his reply, the white wolf-dog by her feet raised his head and looked at Erik.  
He shook his head, "She's very beautiful," he admitted, "but she's cold. And I don't like to say this... perhaps you could warn her.... but some of the men have been talking. One of your guards has been boasting that my brother wasn't the first man in this place to have enjoyed her company. I know there are men who behave in this way, but I can't see how she thinks she'll get away with it. What happens if there are... consequences?" He paced up to the window and looked out, frowning. Fleda was Inga's friend, and he didn't want to offend her. He was surprised that the two women could ever have got along, his precious wasn't at all like this shimmery false creature.

For a few seconds Aethelflaed seemed lost in thought. At least she wasn't offended by his remarks. Then she took a deep breath and gasped, "Of course! It's obvious now! Inga's not a fool! She would only have come here and behaved the way she has... if she was already pregnant... At least I think that's so. She's far too clever to be caught out like that. She'd be a virgin at her wedding, though she knew a lot more than I did, and she was true to her husband until she got with child, and it will be Sigurd's child. Now she can play by her own rules."

 

Erik's expression was a mixture of shock and disdain. "I'm glad she hasn't influenced you, _kaereste_."  
Aethelflaed thought with irony how he had no qualms about making love to another man's wife. He was already behaving as if the two of them were married to each other. What a faithful, devoted husband he would make.  
"Well I expect Sigurd has a lot of fun with her," she said softly.  
"The ride of his life no doubt." He frowned and strode out of the house.

 

"I suppose we should re-appear at some point,"  
"Why? You bored with me?" Her voice sounded indifferent.  
Sigefrid gave a small sigh. It was difficult to deny anything to this woman. But there wasn't much he could do as she was sitting on his back, massaging his neck and shoulders. Goosebumps appeared where the ends of her silver-white hair grazed his skin. He could still catch a faint echo of her perfume as she moved. She intoxicated him, and soon she would have to go back to her richy-rich husband. He had an unfamiliar sense of unease about this. But it couldn't be jealousy, because the Lord of Chaos envied no one.

After two days alone with each other, the Lord and Lady of Chaos emerged. By then the uncomfortable number of empty food platters was competing only with the faint smell from the night bucket. Time to get the place cleaned and refreshed.

Sigefrid appeared first, looking his usual brisk self but with, perhaps, a certain mellowness. The lady Ingibjorg followed looking fresh and unbothered by the heightened interest around them. With her hair curling softly past her shoulders and the light blue dress which clung to her as she walked she looked every much the prize that only their lord could take. While Sigefrid was brought up to date with fortress matters, Inga stepped out of the hall and made her way to the house. There she met Aethelflaed. She exclaimed and kissed her friend, Aethelflaed catching the faint scent of her perfume.  
"You look extremely well, sister." Aethelflaed said, using the old term they had for each other.  
"Why shouldn't I be? He's talking of walking down to see the ships. Is it far? Only I don't want to ruin these wretched silly shoes. It's a bore but I didn't bring anything very hardy."  
Aethelflaed noted how Inga always affected the manner that nothing really bothered her. She was sure that the shoes were costly and of the highest quality.  
"It is a bit far, though you could ride. If not there are views to be had from the dunes." Oh why had she said that? The dunes were where she and Erik had first declared their interest in each other. Where he had kissed her lovingly and for a long, long time. Where he had shown her that love can be gentle and kind. Whatever Inga and Sigefrid had, it wasn't that kind of love.


	7. Chapter 7

"Soon the harbour will be dark with ships. Viking longships, bringing warriors and horses, spears and swords. Then the land will be ours." Sigefrid gazed at the shimmering water below with an almost predatory gleam.  
"Sounds wonderful," She agreed. The dunes were the best place to view the ships from, her friend was right, but she hoped that sitting on the ground wouldn't stain her gown. Grass stains on one's arse aren't a good look. She'd have to wear her formal gown while Freydis washed this one. She had planned to wear the light blue during her entire stay at Beamfleot, she certainly couldn't wear it at home, it was far too blatant. But it did the trick here, didn't it? She'd been warned that she'd never get inside the place, that she'd be lucky to get away without being gang-humped, another good reason to have brought Bobo. But in the end her plan had worked without having to rely on Bobo's massive fangs.  
"Why does she give a wolf such a ridiculous name?" Sigefrid must have been reading her thoughts. He was uncanny like that. Perhaps that was part of his appeal to her. She couldn't impose her will on him easily.  
"It was one of Alfred's younger children who babbled it. The name stuck as the puppy wasn't expected to live, so it seemed as good a name as any."  
"If I had a pet wolf I'd have called it something like Fenrir or Skoll, not some baby word. That family aren't as conventional as I imagined."  
She gazed dreamily ahead, was she remembering? How different their worlds were, he thought, watching her. "They aren't conventional, the girls are educated in the same way as the boys, and one of those will be king. Or is expected to be."  
"You don't mind sitting next to the man who will kill Alfred?"  
She shrugged. "Life happens," She said simply.  
He gave a hard little laugh, "These are your friends, and you say 'life happens'. You talk about them as if you do not care..."

She turned to look at him, the soft curve of her cheek still rounded with the bloom of youth, but her eyes were frank. " I am fond of them, yes, but I don't feel the way others do. It isn't that I don't want to, but I just can't. I'm not like other people. I used to tell Fleda that I was born with no heart, though the truth is I do care, in my own way. It's just that it's not in anyone else's way. There is a hole inside me where other people feel love and joy and pain."  
"And anger?"  
She thought for a moment, "That too, perhaps. I don't know. I haven't lived long enough. But I can tell you that as far as I am able, I do care about some people. Fleda, for instance, and Bobo, though I would never tell her that. She thinks I am annoyed by his shedding fur all over the place." She raised a hand and caressed the line of his beard, "I care about you too, in my own way."  
Sigefrid liked what he was hearing. Here was a woman who wouldn't cling to him and weep and wail when he became sick of her. She may be a woman of rare beauty, but she thought like a man. An idea slowly began to form in his mind, the two of them could have a kind of arrangement. They could be hump-friends, as they saying went. Although he admitted to himself he liked the idea of having a wife like her. She may not have much of a heart - he didn't believe she felt nothing, that was not possible - but it suited him as he didn't either. What a shame she was another man's woman. He could conquer all of this land and not find another like her.

Inga sighed and shifted slightly, testing to see if the ground was damp. Fortunately any moisture seemed to have run through leaving the sand dry. Sigefrid was nice, she was surprised how nice. However she had the feeling that he wouldn't be easy to discard, when the time came. And that was a pity because there were others in that fort that she would have liked to sample, young Dagfinn for example. Were it not for Fleda she might have tried to entertain both brothers, although the younger one would have been a challenge. He didn't play the game and he wasn't young enough to be fooled. Still, she was sure she could have won him over in the end. He would have been worth a hump anyway, he looked as if he enjoyed giving pleasure and she liked that. She liked 'the game', as she called it. She'd only been playing it for a few weeks but already she had learned a great deal.

But the game had limitations. Sigurd must always come first. He would be the one she came home to, the one she let believe she loved most. He was intoxicated by her but he was no fool and she would never treat him like one. She had hinted to him about her free spirit, and he had implied that as long as she didn't rub his nose in anything, he would ignore it. Theirs had been a marriage typical of their status, not a love match, but an alliance between two families. She would be dutiful, give him sons (well, at least one anyway) and organise his household superbly well, meet his guests and charm them so that Sigurd's reputation would always be high and men would envy him. Yes, she could do that.


	8. Chapter 8

By the time the evening came again he was ready for her. He was glad because his pride wouldn't want to let down a lusty woman like this one. He would be the one she regretted having to leave. The feast was almost over and again the ale had flowed. Erik and Aethelflaed were speaking to each other softly. They clasped hands on the table. "What do they talk about?" Asked Inga to Sigefrid. He paused to listen and then shrugged. "She's telling him about Alfred's new laws."  
Inga made a slight roll of the eyes, "I need to get away from here, let's go upstairs big man, and you can show me your longsword."  
"Alfred's laws can hump themselves..." He was drunk but didn't care.  
"I wonder if he's got a law about that." She laughed at the thought.  
"Probably. He'll try to ban it altogether."  
She widened her eyes, "You don't know him very well, do you?" and with a coy smirk she led him from the table.  
No sooner had he bolted the door than he turned to her and took her roughly in his arms. Pressing her amazing body next to him he had to make her care, to prove her wrong. She did have a heart but she just didn't know it. And it would belong to him, not Mr Richy-rich. He pulled at the blue dress and tugged it over her head. The underdress was sewn in, so it came off as one. He swept her up and walked two paces to the bed, where he threw her roughly. A few moments later he was naked and propelling himself onto her. She responded to his fierceness with a cat-like aggression of her own, raking her nails down his back. He parted her legs with his knee and thrust himself inside her. She gave a surprised cry before responding to him, thrusting upwards to meet him in this frenzied coupling. To his satisfaction he found he could go on and on. Perhaps it was the result of all the previous times; they had done it so much that he could last a long time. Was he hurting her? The blood in his head didn't understand reason, all he knew was that he wanted to take her, longer, harder and better than any other man ever would. She came three times before he finally poured himself into her.

"I didn't hurt you?" He remembered that she had given a cry as he had entered her. She was lying drowsily in the crook of his arm, curled up against him.  
"Not really, I'm a Viking woman, remember?" It had hurt but in a good way. Not that she'd ever tell him.  
"True, you don't sit and talk about Saxon laws. You will be leaving me soon." He didn't say it as a question.  
"How did you know?"  
"It will be tomorrow, I feel it. You are welcome to stay of course."  
"So you thought to give me something to remember you by. Don't worry, _kaereste_ , I won't forget you."  
He ran a hand up her smooth flank, where it changed from velvet to silk, "Of course you won't forget the power of a Viking warlord."  
She nestled into his warmth. He was always so warm; he seemed to give off heat like a sun. But she was the moon with the power to move the tides, on which men floated like so many longships. Another one would be along soon. He may not be like this one, not as good or as handsome, but she must move on. She couldn't exactly live in this awful place, could she? If she stayed any longer he would probably start to bore her with predictable talk about marriage and children. And this man would want her to give him Viking children, who would all grow up as violent as he was. And none of them would read or write. 

No thanks, she thought. She would leave tomorrow. And maybe she would come back; perhaps, if she nothing or no one else to do. She closed her eyes and thought of the harbour at Benfleet, all those ships arriving. So many men on her seas, so little time.....


	9. Chapter 9

_One week later...._

Sigefrid was worried. He was not feeling well, which was unusual for him. Perhaps the goddess had brought in an illness and he had caught it? She hadn't seemed ill so he didn't think so. He asked Erik if he felt at all sick and his brother said no; neither he nor the princess was unwell. Perhaps one of the fighters was ailing? Someone he had sat near at the feasting table? If so, it wasn't obvious. He sighed. He had walked over to the dunes where he had sat with his Freya only a few days ago. He recalled studying that perfect profile as she watched the sea. If only she would come back soon and they could hump like wild animals again. He felt so weak and light-headed that perhaps he wouldn't be able to keep up with her. He had no urge to do anything, not to fight, to raid, to punish disobedient fighters. He knew that Erik and that Saxon sow were still in the low house, but he couldn't be bothered to tell them to give it back to its usual tenants. He shouldn't have to. Why did he have to do everything in that place? 

And now he was sick. He was off his food and losing weight. He had no energy to do anything beyond getting out of bed and walking around the camp at a slow and distracted pace. Nothing had any attraction for him anymore. He needed to snap out of this, whatever it was. 

Every Viking camp had a healer and he decided to admit failure and see one. There must be some concoction which would do him good and set him right.

The healer looked into his eyes and pulled down the lower lids. Sigefrid stuck out his tongue.  
"How's your piss?"  
"Fine,"  
"Shit normal? Runny?"  
"Fine," Sigefrid was getting irritable. This was going nowhere.  
"Sweating? Any fevers?"  
"I wouldn't say so, but my heart races sometimes for no reason and I get breathless with this weak feeling. I'm worried I might have a poor heart." Sigefrid might have to kill the man if it was true; he couldn't risk the men learning of this. It didn't do to show a weakness. The healer pressed two fingers on the inside of his wrist and counted quietly for a few moments.  
"Nothing wrong with your heart, that I can see." He muttered.  
"So why don't I feel myself? I've no desire for the things I enjoy. I just sit. Nothing interests me anymore. How long will this last?"  
The healer shook his head, "I cannot say, Lord. I can only counsel you to rest and take plenty of weak ale. How long have you been feeling this way?"  
"Several days and it's only getting worse."  
The healer sighed. "There's nothing I can do for you, as I can't find anything actually wrong. You can only wait it out. Helga will give you a concoction of mint and parsley which might help give you strength. Come back in a few weeks if it doesn't go away."

Sigefrid walked across the yard into the hall where he called for Helga and ordered the concoction. As he sipped the hot drink, he paused for a moment. The fog in his head seemed to clear, despite the languor he still felt. But he didn't think it was the effect of the drink. He suddenly realised what his affliction must be.

He was in love.


End file.
